Frostbitten Crimson
by shadows-of-1832
Summary: "The cheerful Christmas music on the radio, meant to brighten everyone's spirits at this time of year, does not help the situation much either...The truth is, this time of year has never been kind to him." Enjonine. Modern-era. Five-shot.
1. Part One: Meetings

Author's Note_: I do not know where this came from, but it got stuck in my head and I had to write it down. Somewhat holiday-related, but not entirely._

* * *

><p>The moment he sees the number, he knows something is wrong. When that number dares to make an appearance on his cell phone, he knows that there is never good news on the other side.<p>

It's because of that association that he almost doesn't bother to answer the call.

He does pick it up, preparing himself for what is to come, because he knows that if he doesn't, it will only be a matter of time before one of his friends will be contacting him, telling him the news with dread. He could just leave work now and head over to save everyone the trouble of wasting their breaths.

During the conversation, he does his best to keep a straight face, trying not to tip off his coworkers of what is going on. He nods, asking a few questions without much emotion, casting glances around the room to make sure nobody notices the moment his façade crumbles.

On the inside, with every word he hears from the other side, he feels a part of him break, a slight pain in his chest. His head starts to spin, his muscles start to ache. He can feel the tears swelling up in his eyes, and does his best not to let them fall.

The instant the call ends, he picks up his coat and his keys and heads straight for the door. He does not bother to tell anyone what was going on, not even his boss, figuring they will all know the reason in a few days, anyhow. He does not even bother to straighten up his desk, something he is known for within the office, and if that does not at least tip someone off…he doesn't care.

It is the snow that slows his commute, the snowflakes coming down in blankets as he drives down the highway at a snail's pace behind the heavy traffic. On most days with weather such as this, he would only bother to blame the snow and the risk of hitting a patch of ice on these slick roads, but he is aware of the true cause of this slow down up ahead, and he continues in his struggle to keep his mind focused on reaching his destination safely, all while trying not to break down.

The cheerful Christmas music on the radio, meant to brighten everyone's spirits at this time of year, does not help the situation much either.

It doesn't bother him in the way it would bother most people. He's almost certain he has heard the optimistic tunes of being home for the holidays a few weeks _before _Thanksgiving, enough of it for him to be sick of it before the true Christmas season even starts, as are most of the people he knows. That's not the reason.

The truth is, this time of year has never been kind to him.

* * *

><p><span>Three years earlier…<span>

_It had been a dumb choice, really. The moment he received that invitation from Marius and his soon-to-be wife, he should have declined, or say that work would stop him from attending their Christmas/engagement party, almost three weeks before Christmas day. It would not necessarily be a lie, per say, only a reason to avoid such "frivolous occasions," as Courfeyrac called it when Enjolras refused to attend many social gatherings of any sort._

_Yet, here he was, in one of best suits, on the front doorstep of Marius' grandfather's mansion, doing his best not to criticize the one percent. A part of him expects a butler or some other sort of servant to answer the door, only to be greeted by Marius and who he can assume is his fiancée. What was her name again? Colette? Courgette?_

_"Hello, Enjolras." Marius says cheerfully, stepping to the side a bit. "So glad you could make it."_

_"Mabeuf gave me the night off." Enjolras replies with a curt nod._

_"And what a blessing that is!" The man is in good spirits tonight, but that is not unusual. "Oh, I almost forgot! Enjolras, Cosette. Cosette, Enjolras."_

_"It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Cosette smiles, shaking Enjolras' hand. "Marius has told me so much about you!"_

_"I'm sure he has." Enjolras manages to say, all while trying not send a glare the man's way._

_Awkward introductions aside, he is lead into the large living room, which is decked with garland, tinsel, and fake decorative candles (probably a measure in case Grantaire, Courfeyrac, or Joly drink more than they should, or in the case Bossuet should experience one of his accidents), as well as the tall, decorated tree by the front window that almost reaches the top of the vaulted ceilings. He comes to the conclusion that he was the last to arrive, though he is almost certain he arrived ten minutes early. At least, according to his watch and invitation._

_"Oh, look who's here!" Courfeyrac is the first to notice his presence, and therefore is the one to call attention to it, much to Enjolras' dismay. He would have rather just snuck in without the attention being drawn to him, but nonetheless, he manages to get by, answering the many hellos with his own and a slight nod of the head before taking the free seat beside Combeferre._

_"Ran out of work to do?" Combeferre asks Enjolras casually as everyone else returns to their own conversations._

_"No," Enjolras answers, before accepting the glass of wine Cosette offered to him. "Mabeuf told me to leave, that I deserved a break."_

_"He isn't wrong." Corinne, Combeferre's wife, pipes up. "You haven't stopped to take a breather in a long while."_

_He can hear the unspoken words at the end of Corinne's sentence, and he tries to hide the memories those unspoken words called back to mind. _One day at a time_, he tells himself, _one day at a time_._

_The hour goes on, conversations continue, from one person to the next. Stories of years' past here and there, as well as the cliché, "How have you been?" and "Interesting weather we've been having, don't you think?" The room is full of joy and laughter, especially as Joly attempts to tell the story of what he experienced while working the ER's night shift on Black Friday as Bossuet accidently trips over Feuilly's feet and nearly falls into the tree._

_Once dinner is called, it is no surprise to him how quickly the living room empties to the dining room, as everyone takes their assigned seat, which Marius and Cosette had made place-holders to direct them to their seats. Enjolras is not too surprised when he finds that Combeferre is seated on one side of him, while the brunette on the other side is a stranger to him. However, she is not exactly a complete stranger, as he has seen her before, when the Amis decide to group together and go out for dinner somewhere. She normally is not far from Marius' side, but as Marius is seated at the far side of the table, the usual does not apply to tonight._

_As dinner begins, the conversations carry on. Halfway through his meal, though, his head perks up at the sound of his name coming from across the table._

_"Quite possibly, Azelma." Jehan replies to the auburn-haired woman beside him. "Enjolras, have you met Éponine?"_

_"Hm?" He did not catch the entire conversation, as Jehan gestures to the strange brunette Enjolras has beside him. "Oh, hm, yes, I believe I have, though I do not believe we have been properly introduced."_

_"As far as I know." Éponine answers with a slight tilt of her head. "And Enjolras, is it? That's a different name."_

_"It's my last name, actually, and it is what I prefer to go by." Enjolras replies a bit stiffly, a part of him just wanting this bit of small talk to end. If he can tell anything by the look on Jehan's face and how the room has quieted down ever-so slightly, he is not about to get stuck in one of his friends' ways to set him up._

_"Oh." the brunette says quietly before taking a sip of wine from her glass, before she looks in Jehan's direction. "It's a group thing, isn't it?"_

_Jehan nods as he finishes taking a swallow of wine. "For the most part, yes, a trend that seems to have stuck around beyond our college years. However, most of us don't mind either way; only he prefers to be called by his surname."_

_"Why is that?" Éponine asks, and just as Enjolras is about to form a reply, Jehan does so for him._

_"Well, actually, he didn't seem to mind up until two years ago."_

_Éponine this time directs her questions to the man beside her. "Why? What happened two years ago?"_

She doesn't know, and it's an innocent question_, he reminds himself as he thinks of how to reply, though on one hand he knows Jehan, in a way, directed the conversation down this road. _It is not that difficult of a question to answer, and it has been awhile since…

_"I would rather not talk about it" is what comes out of his mouth tightly, and the brunette seated next to him respects his wish, only responding with a small nod of the head._

_He does not exchange words with her the rest of the night, not as if that bothers him at all._

* * *

><p>The driving on the highway is brutal, between the weather and the traffic, and he grows impatient. If anything, he's anxious, because once he gets there, he does not have a certain idea of what he'll find. Nothing specific, only a vague concept.<p>

He constantly replays the phone conversation in his head as he continues driving at the speed of a turtle. Actually, at this rate, the turtle might be faster. Perhaps he should pull over and begin walking, and a part of him actually considers it, but of course, it's practically impossible for him to maneuver his car that way, being in the middle lane of a three-laned highway that is simply packed with cars. It's almost a wonder he hasn't been bumped by the minivan behind him.

"She'll be all right." he tells himself aloud. "Everything is going to be just fine."

As much as the positive words ease his mind, it's only a matter of seconds before the dark thoughts return to his mind once again.

* * *

><p><em>A few days following Marius and Cosette's double-occasioned party, he finds himself in the bitter cold, wrapped in his long black coat, a red crocheted scarf around his neck. The sky is a pale gray, but otherwise clear, and there is about an inch or two of white powder beneath his feet, enough to cover the ground and still have a bit of grass peeking through.<em>

_Many would find it a little odd to find a young man such as himself to be wandering the grounds of a cemetery, simply because of his age to the snow beneath his feet. Who are the many to assume, though? They are only strangers; they know nothing of his life, from birth to now. Other than seeing his face on the street, they know nothing._

_Walking among the stones marked for the dead is not a past time he enjoys. It is not something he does recreationally, as he knows some teens come here in the middle of the night or even broad daylight, their sole purpose being to cause mischief, acts that he claims are disrespectful. The dead are buried beneath their feet and their stones marked for memory, not for those willing to cause harm on the living._

_His purpose at the cemetery has four reasons, reasons important enough for him to leave the warm and cozy confines of his small, two-bedroom apartment for the frigid air that is blowing into his face. These reasons have him visiting three parts of the forest of stones, not that the longer amount of time there will bother him much. It is something he has done for years now. When he was a child, there were two reasons and one location, and then two years ago had the addition of two reasons and two locations._

_There are few reminders to his purpose for being at the cemetery, but when he is reminded, the pain hits him hard, the feeling one may get if they had been struck by a car. With those he lost as a child, the hurt has lessened, but their memories still remain within his mind. The two deaths in recent years, however, are still fresh in his mind. His thoughts of them put a heavy feeling in his chest, and on an occasion or two, Combeferre had to calm him down from the panic grief had caused him._

_The first familiar stone he comes upon is the one from many years, the headstone marking the grave of his parents. He stops and stares at it for a moment, recalling old memories before things went wrong, before the memories of the good times shared only brought on pain. His mother helping him when he scraped his knee after falling off his bike. Sitting on his father's lap, watching him going through papers from the office. Singing songs while the three of them were gathered around the piano._

_He was not even ten when he lost the both of them, when his own life had nearly been lost._

_He kneels down in front of the stone, placing a pair of pink carnations in front of the stone, and for a while, he just sits there. His cold, gloved fingers graze upon the carved names within the stone, recalling the last moments he spent with them alive._

_It had been Christmas night, the three of them on their way home from a party hosted by one of his father's coworkers. The snow was coming down in blankets, covering enough of the road to make it difficult to figure out what was and was not the road. His mother was marveling over the decorations and the food, his father nodding along as he took careful attention on the road. His child self was sitting in the back seat, watching the snowflakes cover the ground, hugging tightly a ragged plush cat he had carried around with him for as long as he could remember._

_He had felt the car jerk and slide every now and again, and being a child, not thinking anything of it. If it had caused him any concern then, he certainly could not recall it now._

_He does not remember how far away they were from home when he heard his mother scream, perking him up after being half asleep. He does remember how the car suddenly slid to the wrong side of the road, the feeling of being jostled a bit when their car came in contact with a minivan head-on. He remembers catching a glimpse of the other vehicle sliding to the side of road uncontrollably as their car spun in the middle of the road before they came into contact with another car, the force of the collision apparently having been enough to knock them off the road, sending them down a hill as they had just missed the guard rails. He can remember the feeling of rolling before his world turned black._

_"Enjolras?"_

_He tries not to act startled at the sound of the voice, before turning his head to see Éponine standing a few feet behind him. He had been so deep in his thoughts that he had not even heard her approach._

_"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you." She begins to back away, preparing to make a quick getaway to prevent disturbing him further, but when he raises his hand slightly, she pauses mid-step._

_"It's fine." he tells her, slowly standing up before brushing the snow off his pants. "You don't need to worry about it."_

_"Are you sure?" she seems cautious and still appears ready to leave him in peace, while on the other hand, she seems hesitant. "I'd really hate to be keeping you from paying your respects."_

_"You are not, I promise." he says, before glancing back at his parents' grave. A few snowflakes had already fallen upon the two flowers he had set there only minutes ago. "Éponine, is it?"_

_She nods, looking somewhat surprised. "You remember me, then?"_

I certainly haven't _forgotten_ you_, he thinks to himself. "Yes."_

_Before he realizes it, the two of them are walking side-by-side among the rows of stones, carrying on conversation as if they were a pair of good old friends, instead of meeting properly for the first time only a few short nights' ago. When they nearly walk by one of the graves he intended to visit, he pauses mid-sentence and excuses himself. He does not know how long he left her there alone, and when she asks if he would like her to leave to allow some privacy, he tells her she doesn't have to, a response that surprises even him. Before moving on, he gently places a single marigold in front of the stone._

_She is the one who stops next, and she asks him if she could be alone for a little while, a request he does not deny her. He tells her he is only going to be a few rows over, and waits for her replying nod before walking over to his intended spot._

_He stares at the stone in silence for a time, his mind too lost in its depths of memories. He kneels downs, placing a dark crimson rose in front of the stone, his eyes looking downward in sorrowful remembrance._

_At least ten minutes go by before Éponine is standing behind him, her brown eyes red and puffy, tear stains leaving faint trails of mascara on her face. He does not question her tears, nor does she him._

* * *

><p>He dreads the moment he reaches the end of the congestion of the highway, when he can see the flashing lights and a pair of mangled cars, one that is only too familiar to him. It only makes the truth come too close to a reality he wishes didn't exist.<p>

He almost pulls over to see if she's there, but he knows she is long gone by now.

He only hopes that once he arrives at the hospital, she is still there.


	2. Part Two: Flat-line

_After the visit to the cemetery, there's the exchange of numbers before they part ways for the evening. The following day, they manage to bump into each other at the local coffee shop, which he simply brushes off as a mere coincidence. However, when he sees her at the supermarket later that week and at the bookstore a few towns over the following week, he begins to think these random meetings are more than a simple coincidence. For a while, he starts to think he is beginning to go insane._

_ "Have you called her yet?" is the first thing Combeferre asks him after he explains what he has experienced the past few weeks since Marius' and Cosette's party. _

_ Enjolras shakes his head, a part of him already guessing where this could be going._

_ "Then perhaps you should, and organize an outing with her. Take her out to dinner or go for a stroll in the park and look at the lights." Combeferre suggests, before taking a small sip of coffee. He does not realize he does it, but his friend gives him a stare that usually results from him rolling his eyes. "This may be fate's way of telling you to take a chance, to move on, or maybe Natalie is intervening."_

_ "Natalie—"_

_ "—would want you to be happy, and to be honest, Luc, I cannot recall a single time you have smiled in the past two years, not one. I do not think anyone has." Enjolras tries to argue, but Combeferre's slightly raised hand stops him. "If you are not ready to move on, then that's the way it is, and I am not going to force you to call Éponine and ask her out. What I am telling you is that maybe you should give her a chance, explore the possibilities you may have with her."_

_ Enjolras' eyes flicker to his empty coffee mug, when Combeferre reaches across the table and takes his hands. "I know losing Natalie and Rosalie, especially in a short span of time, was not an easy thing to go through, especially since they both meant so much to you, but I do not think either of them would want you to waste your life away mourning for them."_

_ He tries to deny the truth of his friend's words, but he knows no matter how long he denies it, that his friend is not wrong. It is not something he and Combeferre have to argue about to figure out who is right, especially with a topic as sensitive as this._

_ "She's a nice girl, and has been through a lot herself, according to Marius and Jehan. I cannot say her past is parallel to yours, but there are similarities." Combeferre mentions, releasing his hands. "Give her a chance before you allow your past to consume you, and maybe you'll be surprised."_

_ The next time he sees her again, it is a few days before Christmas. They meet in one of the local cafés for coffee before heading over to the park to view the many scenes set up using various colored lights, some holiday or winter-themed, while others were seemingly random, such as a dolphin jumping into a pool of water._

_ The evening ends when he drops her off at her apartment, seeing her to the door and saying he'll call her. She invites him inside for a moment, but he quickly shakes his head, making the claim he has meeting early in the morning, which he actually does. However, just as he is about to head down the stairs to the complex's entrance, she calls out him, causing him to freeze mid-step._

_ "I know this is short notice and all, but my sister and her boyfriend are having a small get-together on Christmas Eve at their place, and I was wondering if you would like to accompany me?" she asks, standing in her doorway. "I mean, if you have other plans, I understand if—"_

_ "Of course." he replies. He was actually going to try and spend a few extra hours at the office, but with the holidays and Mabeuf, it wasn't likely for him to succeed. "What time?"_

_ "The gathering starts at six, so if we meet up at the café at five-thirty…"_

_ "How about I pick you up here at five-thirty instead?" he suggests, hoping to make things a bit easier._

_ She nods. "Sounds great. I'll see you then."_

* * *

><p>The difficulty of finding a parking space in the forest of cars of the hospital parking lot does not help his anxiety at all, and the last thing he needs to hear when he gets inside is Joly lecturing him about his hypertension for millionth time and what it could cause if he's not careful. He just needs to get to her, to see her, to put some peace in his mind.<p>

Once he finally manages to park his car, he does not waste time rushing to the wide sliding doors of the facility's entrance, not too surprised to see Combeferre and Joly standing there, waiting for him. He can already tell by the looks on their faces that things are not well.

He is about to avoid them and ask the receptionist on her whereabouts, but a tight grip on his arm by Combeferre stops him, and an unamused glare from Joly (a rare sight) tells him he needs to sit down. Without protest, he allows Combeferre to lead him to one of the nearby chairs, before collapsing into the fabricated seat.

"I thought both of you were working the late shift tonight." he says, observing that both men are wearing their white lab coats over their clothes. "Am I mistaken?"

"No." Combeferre replies, taking a seat beside him. "But you need us more."

"They will not let us work if we are 'emotionally compromised,'" Joly adds, sitting down across from them "because it could cost someone's life if our thoughts become too occupied, especially in this case, and then lawyers might get involved—you know how it goes."

Enjolras nods, not willing to argue with his friends' ways of support. They are, after all, only trying to help, but the looks on their faces are not reassuring. He can practically smell the melancholy from Joly, while Combeferre can barely meet his gaze.

* * *

><p><em>Winter ends and spring passes, followed by the barely-noticeable arrival of summer before the leaves begin to change color once again. Without much notice by either of them, it is late November.<em>

_ Without much debate, she accompanies him to the cemetery, a journey that he has taken by himself for almost fifteen years. _

_It has come to that one point in their relationship where they have a complete understanding of why the other behaves the way they do, what topics they shut out. They knew how to be careful and prevent offense. They have shared stories of their pasts, good and bad, and yet there were still stories neither of them had shared._

_The story of his parents he shares following his placing of the two pink carnations in front of the stone._

"_The year before, my father did his best to explain to an eight-year-old that his mother has cancer." he tells her after he explains the details of the accident. "Ever since I was old enough to understand, when Combeferre's father told me what my father had meant, I found myself believing that her death in the accident was better for her, so she would not have to suffer since the treatments were not working."_

_Combeferre's father and his father had met one another during their college days, and had been friends long after that. It was because of their fathers that Combeferre and Enjolras met as toddlers. The trust and bond between the two families had been so strong, that one entrusted the other in raising their child in the case of a tragic accident where both parents were lost. _

_The next grave they visit is the one he is certain will be the most difficult to explain, and not because this one will provide much explanation of the final one. He can still feel the pain of loss from within, as words continue to plague his mind as to how he will explain to her the events that had occurred before he knew her. For days, he had planned it out on paper, the notes on the legal pad an absolute mess of crossed-out words and additions, before they were scrapped and tossed into the recycle bin. No matter how many times he tried, he found that the words were not right, no matter what he did with them._

_They stand at the grave for a few minutes in silence, both of them trying not to shiver with cool and bitter air of late autumn. The wind ruffles her hair a bit, and she struggles to brush it from her face, as it always seems to return shortly after fixing it. He smiles slightly out of amusement, though he does not think she notices. He reaches for the dark crimson rose from inside his jacket, before placing it in front of the stone bearing the name, "Natalie Elise Enjolras née Sauveterre."_

_He tries to find the words to explain to Éponine who she was, when a comforting hand reaches his shoulder._

"_Marius told me." she says, her head turning to the grave before them. "I'm sorry."_

_He nods, his eyes focused on the stone. "It wasn't your fault."_

_He then begins to tell her the story of how he met her in pre-school and managed to keep in touch through college, the unscripted words spilling out. He mentions how when he woke up for the first time since the accident, of how she was there with Combeferre and his father, holding on to the ragged plush cat he had held onto during the crash. He tells her of the marriage pact they made when they were twelve years old, how they would marry each other if neither of them managed to find the right one by the time they were thirty-five, but how that suddenly changed when she was diagnosed at twenty-five with a rare disease that would not allow her to see many days beyond thirty, if even that._

"_I was with her when they told her the diagnosis," he recalls, closing his eyes. "She…she did not say a word, and did not break down until I dropped her off at her apartment."_

_It had pained him to see his childhood friend in such a state, and it still hurt to think about it._

_He had spent that night with her, trying to calm Natalie down with soothing words and the false phrases that everything would be fine, knowing nothing would be the same. They sat on the couch, watching some of her favorite films as the late hours passed by and continued into the morning, the pair of them sitting close on the couch, sharing a bag of popcorn. _

"_I do not think I will ever know what prompted the thought, but before I could catch myself, I suggested that we should just get married then."_

_Éponine manages to smirk. "How did she take that?"_

_The next thing he could remember was Natalie giving him a good, hard slap across the face, obviously her first thought being that the suggestion was a joke, and she apologized the moment she realized he was serious. It was not even two months later when he found her walking down the aisle in simple white gown, and becoming a married man within the same hour._

"_Did you ever talk of children?" Éponine asks rather hesitantly as they begin to walk away from the grave, him leading her to other gravesite. _

_He takes a deep breath, his eyes looking towards the ground as their pace had gone slow. "…Yes…"_

_She nods. "And what were her thoughts?"_

"_She wanted them; three or four was what she imagined." Enjolras replies slowly, recalling to mind the many different times the subject had come up, from their teenage years and onward. "Personally, I had never given it much thought, other than one or two once I would have considered myself 'financially stable,' but she did not have time to wait that long."_

_He can remember how Natalie had been when she had believed that was one thing she could never have, something she would not live long enough to experience. He tells Éponine of how she had eventually come up with the idea of having a child or two sooner rather than later._

"_She did not want to leave me alone," he went on to say, "I thought it was a risk that would take its toll on her, and decrease her already-short life expectancy."_

_He went on to explain how they ended up giving each other the cold shoulder for almost a week because of it, and how she had at one point locked him outside in the pouring rain without his phone, keys, or jacket in hopes of winning the dispute. However, that resulted in him heading to Courfeyrac's apartment on foot, since it was the closest place to seek refuge apart from his home. His timing could have not been worse, as his friend was in the middle of…entertaining…his girlfriend, whoever she was._

"_You poor man." Éponine feigns sympathy, a smirk on her face. "Did he suggest you to join in?"_

_Enjolras hesitates, his already-reddened cheeks becoming a shade darker, before nodding, and the woman laughs in return._

"_I did, however, decline the offer." he stammers slightly. "My explanation being that Natalie would have not been pleased."_

_He immediately shifts the conversation back towards its focus, not wanting to dive further into that detail of the story. He then explains how Natalie had eventually put much thought throughout that cold week, resulting in her agreeing with him._

"_However, as careful as we were to prevent a child from entering the world, it appeared life decided to throw another curveball our way." _

_Natalie had suddenly fallen ill with what was thought to be the flu, something he found odd for May, so far out of the flu season, but he did not consider it impossible. When the said ailment had not subsided after a little over a week, they had made the decision to visit the hospital to see what could possibly be the issue. _

"_She was thrilled when she found out she was going to be a mother, and for those short moments, I do not think I had ever seen her happier."_

_It was advised that she should have an abortion, given Natalie's slowly fading health. She had grown furious at the suggestion, not wanting to lose out on this one of the few opportunities she had left. Enjolras, however, had found himself torn between the chance of being a father and keeping his wife and childhood friend alive for as long as possible, and in the end, he had told Natalie he would support her with whatever decision she made, though in his mind he might disagree. In the end, she chose to keep it._

"_She was seven months along when the doctor told us it would be best to have the child delivered as soon as possible, by Caesarean, in order for Natalie to last a few more weeks."_

_But Natalie had not lasted that long. Shortly after the child was born, before she had a chance to hold their daughter, she had taken her last breath at twenty-eight._

_He remembered being kicked out of room the moment she flat-lined, as the doctor and nurses rushed to try and save her, while he watched helplessly through the window. Combeferre had stood by him, trying to calm him down as he fought to get back into the room, before he sank to the ground as he saw the doctor declare the time of death: 6:32 PM, on November 23 of that year._

_The first time he saw his daughter, he could not even look at her without placing her mother's death upon her. At the same time, he blamed himself for the same crime._

_By this point, Enjolras and Éponine arrive at the third gravesite, and without the exchange of words, the latter turns towards him, shaking her head in disbelief. He nods, kneeling down in front of the small headstone to place a lone marigold on the ground before it._

_Rosalie, a name that he and Natalie had agreed upon, other than being born prematurely, was healthy. No sign of disease or anything else that would shorten her life in the foreseeable future. _

_But of course, not even three weeks later, life had decided once again to tear him apart. On December 11, while she was still in the hospital and he was at work, she died suddenly, and no one was able to tell him why._

"'_Sometimes, it just happens,' is all they could tell me. No explanation or possible cause." he tells Éponine sorrowfully, "And what makes it worse, is that I was not even there."_

_Éponine crouches down beside him, offering her gloved hand and an empathetic smile. He takes it as they slowly stand up, and after a few moments of silence, they walk away. _

_He thinks they are about to leave the cemetery and begins to head towards the gate, but as he turns, she tugs on his arm gently, enough to get him to stop in his step and turn his head towards her._

"_Before we leave, I think there is something you should see."_

* * *

><p>"What have they told you?" he finally brings himself to say, trying his best to keep his voice calm and level, though he's shaking on the inside, and he knows at least Combeferre senses that.<p>

Neither of them respond for the longest time, as if the passage of time would somehow just take away the reality of the day, or have it start all over to prevent it all from happening, but none of them have the power to do that. Instead, the three of them only sit there in silence. At one point, Joly disappeared and returned with an ice cold bottle of water, and tried to hand it to Enjolras, but the man took no notice of the bottle in front of him, even as Joly tried to capture his attention by saying his name.

"What have they told you?" he repeats, his steel-blue eyes almost hostile, but his voice remains steady despite the feeling of shattered glass within him. However, he is sick with prolonging the inevitable. He knows it isn't easy to hear what he might hear or for them to say what they have to say, but he is aware that by continuing on in silence is not going to help any of them.

Joly and Combeferre explain everything they can, switching between the bearers of news. Combeferre manages to keep his voice steady and comforting, but Joly was struggling not stutter or pause while he spoke. Enjolras constantly hears a vast amount of medical terms that he is certain he has heard many times before and yet barely understands, but what they are saying is comprehensible enough for him to have an overall understanding of their words. However, some of the words they spoke were enough for him to feel ice cracking beneath his feet, and a part of him is waiting to fall through without any hope of return.

'Flat-line' comes up at least three times between the two of them, and he hopes that they were referring to it as a one-time occurrence, which is still enough of a dagger in him. 'Serious trauma' must have come up at least five times, each time followed by a different name and place than before.

"One of the paramedics…They told me she was lucky to still be alive before making it to the hospital." Joly mentions during one of his turns. Enjolras knows he saw her, too, but is aware that Joly is sparing him such details.

Once the explaining is done, the only thing he asks is if he can see her.


	3. Part Three: Sacrifice

_Author's Note: So this story does not end here. By the looks of things, this is going to at least be done in four parts, if not five. Hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

><p>The hours pass by silence as he sits anxiously in the waiting room, twisting the wedding band on his finger, while Combeferre and Joly remain nearby, quietly going over some paperwork and files of their patients. Courfeyrac, Feuilly, and Marius had come for a few hours to help in keeping him calm, before having to return home to their families. The remaining Amis had called his phone, saying what they could to comfort him from the other end of the line, but that only eased his mind for so long.<p>

He does not know how most time had passed by the time he is told he can see her, other than the faint trace of sunlight rising from the east. With the dark circles that resided underneath his eyes, it was clear that sleep was a forgotten necessity. Joly had at one point in the night suggested to take him to an empty room so the man could at least get some sleep, but Enjolras knew that he would not get any sleep even if he tried.

He is lead through the maze of snow-white corridors, with Joly and Combeferre not too far behind, passing various units on their way. A part of him feels that he only needs to be told the room number in order to find her, having walked these halls frequently five years ago, something he can hardly believe, but he instead remains silent, his eyes focused on the footsteps ahead.

He does not notice it at first when he turns into her room, his mind too deep in thoughts he was trying to distract himself with. It takes Combeferre placing a hand on his shoulder to get him to notice where he is, and it takes a moment for it all to sink in.

He barely recognizes her, a thought that frightens him. There is dark bruising and scratches all over her face, most likely from the shattered glass of her car's windshield. Her left arm is in a sling, wrapped thoroughly in bandages around the wrist and along her forearm, while her right arm is marked with purple skin and red lines. After seeing all of that, he becomes horrified at the thought of what he cannot see, of what could possibly be hidden underneath the dressings and her gown and the blanket…

_This is not your fault_, he forces the thought. _You did not cause this to happen. Car accidents happen all the time, and the weather conditions only increase the risk of driving. What happened could have happened to anyone. It happened to you_.

The terrifying memory of the crash wasted no time in emerging from the depths of his mind to haunt him once more. The thrashing, the screaming, the rolling, which he is sure only ended for him the moment he blacked out, still clutching onto to that old plush cat. Who knows how long his parents suffered before they too lost consciousness?

The next thing he recalls from that horrific Christmas night is waking up with a slight headache while lying on the hospital bed, Combeferre and his father on one side of the bed, and young Natalie holding on to that same stuffed animal he held during the accident. How the thing survived the crash unscathed was beyond him, when his parents were not that fortunate.

When he was older, his adoptive father had shown him some of the photographs of the scene of the accident. The other vehicles involved did not suffer much damage compared to his family's car, which resembled, at least in his opinion, a crushed pop can. He was told that the other victims had managed to receive only minor injuries, the worst being a broken leg, while his parents were pronounced dead at the scene.

His mind then immediately flashes to Natalie, and how he had to sit there and watch her suffer. He had spent months watching her become weaker and weaker, something he had tried to prepare himself for. During the pregnancy, when things almost immediately took a turn for the worse, when she had become more dependent on him, he had found that he was not as prepared as he had thought himself to be. He had considered mentioning to her what he had said before, about the baby only making death come quicker to her, perhaps with the slightest chance of convincing her to abort it, but he knew it would do no good.

She had been apprehensive of the child's early delivery, well-aware of the health risks involved with a premature newborn, but he had eventually managed to reason with her, that their child had better chances of survival that week than the week before. He had, however, held back from her that the doctors told him that to hold it off a week could result in the loss of them both.

And he had, just a few weeks between one another.

Now, the same exact thing was happening once again. He is thoroughly convinced that the same thing is only going to happen again, for the fourth time in a little over twenty years, and he's barely over thirty. He does not want it to happen, he hopes it doesn't happen, but he firmly believes it will, no matter how much he prays to the God he stopped believing in five years ago.

He listens to the beeping of the machines she is hooked up to, watching the heart monitor with a close eye with every beat. It is practically taunting him, waiting him to briefly turn the other way or fall asleep for a short minute before the line goes flat, when he will be whisked away from her as the doctors and the nurses try to revive her. He does not even allow his eyes to flicker to the IV drip, 'less the monitor decides to alter its pattern then.

He gently takes hold of her right hand, almost believing the technology is only a façade and that what is before him is false, but the warmth of her hand, though covered in scratches, tells him the his current situation is a reality. _She is alive, and this is not an illusion_, he tells himself.

* * *

><p><em>Éponine leads him to a grave just a few rows over from Natalie's, the same one he vaguely remembered from the year before, when she had asked him to leave her alone for a little while, allowing him to leave her in peace while he could have some peace of his own at his late wife's grave.<em>

"_They say bad things come in threes," she began, and he could hear a slight quiver in her voice. "Normally it is noticed right away, when we experience it directly. However, I do believe at times we are not aware of numbers until we encounter others around us, and how we are affected one or two times indirectly by them, though there may be much time before we have knowledge of it."_

_Though he is not completely sure what she means by this, he nods, encouraging her to continue._

"_You see, Enjolras, just about a few days after…Rosalie…passed away, I was walking home with my brother, Gavroche." She gestures to the headstone, and without any further words, it is clear where they are and who lies beneath their feet. He remembers the name faintly from the back of his mind, and the face of a teenager who normally hung around Courfeyrac and Grantaire during gatherings at one of the local restaurants. He can recall a heavy air that hung around the Amis that winter three years ago, but at the time, the losses of Natalie and Rosalie were still plaguing his mind enough for him not to make any further considerations._

"_I did not have a car back then, and we were walking home after having dinner at one of the local restaurants a few blocks away from home. It was probably not even seven o'clock, and we had taken one of the backways home, thinking it was just going to be one of those normal walks home." Éponine turns her focus to the headstone, and though he is only holding her hand, he can feel her shaking, but not from the cold. He manages to gently tear his hand away from hers before pulling her close, her back against his chest._

"_There was this figure following us, but neither of us thought anything of it, that they were perhaps heading to their own place and just happened to on their way. When we got closer to home though, with that person still behind us, things were starting to feel suspicious, so I made a quiet suggestion to Gavroche and we walked around a couple more blocks to see if this was a coincidence." He put his hands upon her shoulders, his way of suggesting that she did not need to continue, as it was only upsetting her, but she did not stop. This was something she had to get off her chest._

"_We finally made the circle around back to our block, and the figure was still behind us. By this point, I had called Azelma and told her to stay indoors and lock everything, including the windows, just in case, and then told Gav rather loudly that we were going to head back into town, because I had forgotten something at the store, but in truth, I had planned on staying in the store until Marius or Courf could fetch us and get us home safely._

"_The person must have had enough by this point, because just as we were about to pass our house, I heard a loud bang, before Gav…before he collapsed, and then I turned around to see if I could look at the man, or woman, at least get a decent look of their face, but then…" she suddenly turned around so they were face-to-face, before he wraps his arms around her, her head resting upon his shoulder._

"_You do not have to speak further, especially if it is only going to upset you." Enjolras tells her, and she pulls away slightly, but not completely from his grip._

_She shakes her head. "No, I do. I need a moment, is all."_

_He watches her take a few deep breaths, each one shaking less than the one before. He hears her count to ten under her breath, almost too inaudible for him to hear. _

_She starts to speak once more when her breaths were a bit more even, but it was clear she had not yet calmed down completely._

"_After I turned around, there was another gunshot, and then there was a sharp pain in my stomach." He notices her hand move to the lower left of her abdomen, where he can only guess is where the scar from that bullet marked her skin. "Then another in my right shoulder, before I fell._

" '_Zelm must have seen what happened and/or the neighbors must have heard the gunshots, because at least half the block was crowded to see what had happened before I had blacked out." Éponine's voice was almost normal now, but one could sense that the memory still haunts her mind three years after the fact. "When I woke up a few days later, Azelma was sitting beside me, rather upset. I asked her what was wrong, and then she told me that our brother was dead, that he had lost too much blood and passed during the trip to the hospital._

"_They never caught the bloody bastard who did it, either, but my guess was that someone was out to get revenge on our father." Éponine says tightly. "After they finished their task, they took off, and no one could give a decent enough of a description, between how dark it was and how quickly they fled the scene, but I do know if I ever have the opportunity to confront them, I'll prove why it's unwise to mess around with the children of a wolf."_

_There's a bitterness in her brown eyes that fades after those strong words, as her expression softens and her focus turns to the ground. She slowly turns away from him, as if she cannot bear to look at him without pain being brought to mind. She then begins to walk towards the car, and there is silence the entire ride home._

_The next day, he comes by to her apartment for dinner. There are few words spoken between them, and most of his attempts at conversation fail. He finds her quietness odd, especially since she is usually the one who keeps the conversations going. _

_He offers to do the dishes while she heads off to pick out a movie, as she sometimes argues that she can very well do it by herself, even though he suggests to simply assist her. At this point, he wants to hear speak more than a few words, whether it's her shouting at him or casually telling him how her day has been. He is even willing to toss some soap suds towards her just to hear her laugh._

_All she says is, "Okay," before she heads to the other room._

_Throughout much of the film, she keeps her distance, taking a seat at the opposite end of the couch, which bothers him even more. Usually she is snuggled up against him, her head on his chest. Instead, she isn't close to him at all, curled up and quietly munching on her small bowl of popcorn._

_Did he do something wrong? Did he speak too soon to her of Natalie and Rosalie, or perhaps speak of them too much, and in a way, forced her to speak about the tragedy that she experienced with her brother? He tries to remember anything that might answer the questions, but finds few answers._

_Perhaps he is only overthinking it. Perhaps she is only having an off day. _

_Maybe it's just the time of year._

* * *

><p>"You should rest." Combeferre suggests to him from the room's doorway. "Or at least eat something. You haven't done either since you've been here."<p>

"It's Christmas Eve, Alex." Enjolras brings up, the reminder being the miniature faux tree sitting on the window sill. "You should be home with Corinne and the twins—I'll be fine."

"You are fooling no one, Luc." the doctor says, stepping beside him. "You have not left her bedside since this morning, you have not slept for at least two days, probably have not much eaten much of anything…Have you taken your medication?"

Enjolras nods, before gesturing to the small, empty glass beside a half-filled prescription bottle that was sitting next to a small vase of flowers and Éponine's wedding ring on the bedside table. "Joly was not going to go home until I did."

"Good. One less thing for me to get on your case about." Combeferre says with a trace of humor in his voice, resulting in a brief half-smile from Enjolras. "How about we head downstairs to the cafeteria before you starve yourself?"

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm not leaving her." His head turns towards her, slightly tightening his grip on her hand. He knows his friend can sense the fear in his eyes, and Combeferre places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"She is not going anywhere, I promise."

"I was not here for Rosalie, and I should have been." Enjolras says gravelly. "I should have never left her until I was absolutely certain all would be fine."

"What happened to her was not your fault, Luc. What happened…sometimes there isn't a cause."

"That is not what bothers me." he remarks tautly, shaking his head. "What bothers me is that I was not there, that I was a quarter of an hour away, sitting at my desk, when my daughter breathed her last breath, not even three weeks after her mother. Natalie was counting on me and I failed her. If something is to happen to Éponine while I am away…I do not think I would live well knowing that I was not here for her."

"I'll bring you something, then." Combeferre sighs, figuring that by continuing this conversation, they will get nowhere. He gives his friend a few comforting taps on the shoulder, before exiting the room.

Once his old friend disappears from sight, Enjolras' eyes flicker from machine to machine. One that monitors her heart rate, another that checks her breathing, and then a few others whose function he is not certain of.

There is one, however, that causes him to do a double take, and he squints at it from the opposite side of the room. He starts to think his mind is playing tricks on him from his lack of sleep, but after blinking a few times, the belief loses its foundation.

* * *

><p><em>The end credits roll, and she wordlessly flicks the lights on as he picks up the bowls of unpopped kernels from the floor before placing them on the kitchen counter. He cannot take the silence anymore.<em>

"_Is everything all right?" he asks as she brushes past him on the way to the fridge._

"_Of course." Éponine responds rather quickly. "What would make you think something's wrong?"_

"_You have been awfully quiet since we left the cemetery yesterday." he says as he dumps the remnants of popcorn in the waste bin. "By any chance, did I say something that offended you?"_

"_Hm?" She glances up at him from the fridge. "Oh, no, not at all."_

_He nods curtly, setting the empty dishes in the sink. "Is something bothering you, then?"_

"_Nope." She closes the refrigerator door empty-handed, not meeting his eyes before turning back into the living room. He follows her._

"_Is there something you want to talk about?"_

_She shrugs her shoulder before shaking her head. "No…"_

_The sound of her voice did not convince him enough to believe that was the case, and she is still avoiding his eyes as she plops onto the couch. Her eyes instead catch interest towards the floor, as she begins twirl a finger around a lock of her hair, something he has learned she only does when she is either nervous or stressed._

_He sits down beside her, placing a hand gently on her lower back. "Éponine, what is it?"_

"_Nothing." she breathes, and he can tell from experience that is not the case. She turns her face towards her, only to find a gentle, concerned look gazing right back at her. "Fine…it isn't 'nothing,' and perhaps it isn't something I should keep from you much longer, but can I ask you something first?"_

"…_Of course."_

"_What are your current thoughts on children?" she asks cautiously and hesitantly. "I know with Natalie, you had thought about one or two, once you felt secure enough, but she did not have that sort of time, and…then there was Rosalie…I suppose I'm asking if your thoughts have changed."_

"_Not much has changed." he replies after a few moments of thought. "Having a couple of children one day would not be a bad thing, if my partner was willing, of course."_

_He sees her bite her lip nervously, then she takes a deep breath. "What if she was willing, but not capable of bearing children?"_

"_What do you mean, Ép?" He leans down, trying to see if he can catch her eye, but she only turns her head away._

"_What if, because of an incident in the past, it is not likely for her to ever become a mother?"_

_Confusion crosses his face. "I do not believe I follow."_

_She sighs, shaking her head. "Remember what I told you yesterday, when I was…you know…?"_

_He nods, having some thoughts on where the conversation could be leading, though he was still not certain if any of them could be the case._

"_Well, the bullet that hit me in the stomach…it caused a bit of damage to some of the organs there, and while I was still in the hospital, I was told that it was likely that I could never have children." Éponine explains, her voice uneven. "They said there was a slight chance I could, but it would not be sudden nor would it be easy. If you are serious about having children one day, Enjolras, that is not something I can promise you."_

"_Éponine…" he trails off, trying to figure out how to put the words together. It is a bit of a shock to him, and brings along disappointment. Even though it has only been a year since their relationship began, he has considered having a future with her, if she was willing to allow it. He had been imagining how she would look on their wedding day, how they would watch in awe as their children grew up before their eyes, how they would grow old in rockers and watch their grandchildren scamper about…_

"_I do not want you make that sort of sacrifice for me, to give up something like that in place of me."_

"_Éponine, children are not that high on the priority list." he tells her, putting together unscripted words to the best of his ability. "Though I am…disappointed, I think is the best word here, it does not change the way I feel about you. It's just a bump in the road that we'll have to get through, and if it does reach a certain point, there are other options out there we could explore."_

_Her head turns towards him. "You mean, you don't plan on…?"_

"_Because of something like this? No, I do not, and I feel sorry for the men that have left you for that reason."_

_She snuggles closer to him, allowing her head to rest underneath his chin. "Are you sure?" _

"_I am." Enjolras replies, resting a hand on her hip. _It's going to take a bit more than that to make me leave_._


	4. Part Four: Waiting

He does not realize the moment he falls asleep with his head resting on the edge of the hospital bed. He does not even notice that he had even fallen asleep until Combeferre begins to rouse him by shaking him gently by his shoulder.

"Hm?" he groans drowsily, before emitting a rather loud yawn. For a moment, he looks around with panic in his eyes, but once he remembers the recent events, he manages to calm down a bit.

"I did not mean to startle you, and as much as you need your sleep, you need to at least eat something." Combeferre tells him as he hands Enjolras a steaming bowl of soup.

"Thanks," he says, setting the dish aside on the small, already crowded bedside table. "But I do not think I will be able to."

"Do not do this to yourself." Combeferre tells him sternly yet gently. "I've seen you do this before, and I will not stand here and allow you to do it again."

Enjolras blinks at him a few times, before the memories begin to flash through his mind. How little he ate for a while after his parents' deaths, if ever at all. How he had fallen into such a state of depression that there were days where he would hide in his room and refuse to be seen. How similar behavior occurred following the deaths of Natalie and Rosalie, and how distant he had been. If it had not been for Combeferre, among his other friends, he would have not lasted long.

There were days where he had not slept, focusing on his work to distract him from his thoughts, and at the same time, he had neglected to take care of himself, or to even eat. After noticing the steep downhill slope he was going down, the Amis had intervened. He was not left by himself for more than a few hours for almost three months, all of them taking turns to make sure he did not do anything worse (Not to their knowledge, at least). However, when he began experiencing overwhelming moments of grief, when he experienced sudden fits of panic, Combeferre was the only one who would manage to get him to calm down.

"I'm not going to." Enjolras tries to reassure him, but Combeferre appears skeptical, and he has every right to be.

"Good, and I hope you don't." The doctor replies, pulling up the other chair beside him. "Because watching it twice was enough."

Enjolras' eyes flicker to the machines opposite of them, analyzing what he can to figure out how well she is doing, if she's in danger. "_The first twenty-four hours are always crucial_," he had heard Joly say once, in regards to patient's state, and now, he is still questioning whether or not she'll make it through.

"She's a strong woman, Luc." Combeferre knows his thoughts better than him sometimes. "She is not going to give up easily."

"I know she won't." _She never does_.

The rest of the afternoon continues on. Combeferre left shortly after making sure Enjolras had eaten something, and promised he would be back early in the morning to check up on them. Enjolras nods, saying 'Thank you,' before his childhood friend had disappeared from sight.

The twenty-four hour mark goes without notice that evening, him succumbing to sleep not long after Combeferre had left, the rhythm of the machines lulling into the unconscious state. The chattering that occurs outside the room does not disturb him, the noise being faint enough from where he sat. The clanging of the metal on the tile floor when one of the nurses drops a tray directly outside the door does not even cause him to twitch.

He does not wake up until the following morning, early enough to see the sun peeking over the horizon through the off-white blinds. His hand is still holding on to hers, the same way he recalls it being when he fell asleep the previous afternoon. Meanwhile, the machines continue the same pattern he saw the day before.

From the hall, he can hear the faint sound of Christmas carols, which reminds him of what day it is. He would rather not think about it, though, because the day only hurts ever since what happened to his parents over twenty years ago on the same day. And now, because of similar circumstances, he was sitting beside a hospital bed, wondering if his wife, his Éponine, would ever wake up.

If something was to happen to her, it would be today. He can feel it deep down, that amid the joy and happiness of the holiday, he would once again lose someone so close, and he is almost waiting for the monitors to show it.

The first conscious person he sees that morning is Combeferre, carrying a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and his six-month-old daughter, Marie, in the other. Corinne is not too far behind, carrying their son, René, and small gift bag, the latter which she hands to Enjolras.

"Thank you." Enjolras says with a curt nod, setting the bag down beside the chair so he can accept the steaming cup Combeferre is handing to him. "You did not have to do this."

"I know, but we wanted to." Corinne says, shortly before René and Marie start to fuss. "Alex and I, at least, though we will not be the only ones here today. Courfeyrac and Nicole are planning on coming here at some point, Feuilly and Cecylia will be coming with Bahorel and Grantaire, and if I heard right, so are Jehan and Azelma, but in the evening."

"Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are planning on making a visit today, around noon." Combeferre adds, trying calm the child in his arms. "And Marius and Cosette are hoping to stop by before heading to his grandfather's for the holiday, as long as Sophie cooperates."

He is about to reply, "None of them needed to change their plans because of us," or at least something along those lines, but he knows such words are not necessary. The entire group is as close as a family, a rather large extended family. Though none of them are related by blood (Azelma and Éponine being the exceptions), there is not a single one who would ignore one of their brothers or sisters if the need arose, and would change their plans in a heartbeat if the situation called for it.

"We all care about you, Luc, and we are not going to let one of the biggest holidays of the year stop us from making sure you are alright." Corinne says as René's cries start to die down into a whimper. "You are not going to go through this alone."

"Thank you," is all he manages.

Just as he had been informed, all the Amis make an appearance that day. Courfeyrac had arrived shortly after Combeferre and his family had left, with his long-time girlfriend Nicole not too far behind him. Like Combeferre, Enjolras has known Courfeyrac since they were young children, and the latter is all-too-quick to read the sadness that is written all over him. To Courfeyrac, life always had seemed to deal Enjolras the bad hand, and he finally thought that things were finally turning around for him when he married Éponine.

Enjolras had a good poker-face, but life was a cruel dealer, and always seemed to know which cards would be the ones to show the reality he kept hidden.

Courfeyrac wants to tell him that "She'll make it" and "Everything will be just fine." Comforting words though they are, he's certain Combeferre has already said countless variations of those words to him the past few days, and that he will probably hear them plenty more as the days go on. He also strongly dislikes making promises he cannot keep.

"No matter what happens, we will be here for you," are the only words he can say without a sense of guilt, the only words he can say truthfully without feeling he could be wrong.

Marius and Cosette are next to arrive, with their two-year-old daughter in-tow. They do not stay for long, not even ten minutes, having other places to be, but they use their small amount of time wisely, trying to keep a bright outlook on things.

"Do not hesitate to call us if you need anything." Cosette tells him hurriedly before leaving, wrapping her arms tightly around him. "I do not care what time it is. Even if it is 4:03 in the morning, just call us. Can you promise me that?"

"Of course." he tells her, and she looks back at him one more time before walking out the door.

The day continues on. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta walk in just as Feuilly, his wife Cecylia, Bahorel, and Grantaire are on their way out, and just as the day before, Joly makes sure Enjolras is taking care of himself. The doctor first makes sure the man has taken his own medication before even asking if Enjolras has been told anything new about Éponine's condition.

"It will not do much for you if you neglect taking it." Joly reminds him for the millionth time. "And you may never have to take it again after a few months' time as long as you follow the recommendations given to you."

"I have not forgotten, Joly," Enjolras remarks with a bit of an edge to his voice. "It's just…there are other things on my mind right now."

"I understand." The scolding voice ceases, and Joly's eyes flicker to the still form on the bed. "Has anything changed?"

"No news." he replies, taking a small sip of the now-cold cup of hot chocolate. "Other than her still being alive, which at this point, I'll accept."

Bossuet nods in agreement, while Musichetta puts a small smile upon her face.

"And how have you been, dealing with all this?" Musichetta asks gently from her seat by the windows, her eyes shifting from the window to him.

"I've been…I've been getting by." Enjolras answers, his eyes all-too focused on the machines across from him. He has been expecting things to take a turn for the worst all day, and it is nearly three in the afternoon. They are simply taunting him by sitting there, and are just waiting for the single moment he is not on guard to strike.

It isn't long before they leave, too, just as the others before them.

Jehan and Azelma arrive in the evening, after already having a busy day of spending time with his side of the family, for when it comes to family-by-blood, Éponine is all the latter has left. When they walk in, it is quite clear they are exhausted from the day's earlier activities, both having dark circles underneath their eyes. Enjolras almost suggests to them to go home and sleep, and then come back the following morning well-rested, but he knows his sister-in-law will hear none of it.

"I wish we could have been here sooner." Azelma says after a short embrace. "How is she?"

"She's fine, for the moment." Enjolras replies before returning to his seat beside the bed. "Though the doctors and nurses have been in and out of here regularly, it is clear there has not been much change."

"No news is good news, I suppose." Jehan takes a look out the window while Azelma takes the seat beside Enjolras. "And how have you been holding up?"

"As well as I can," he takes his wife's still hand, his eyes searching her for any signs of life, anything that says to him she'll come back. All he wants right now is some assurance, some sign that will promise him that she will wake up, something that will end this living nightmare.

Azelma places a hand on her brother-in-law's shoulder, worry in her hazel eyes. "She'll survive this; I know she will."

He wants to believe her, but as the hours have ticked by the past couple of days, he struggles with such a belief. His mind that had once made him a believer of many things, from hope, liberty, and a Higher Power, had made him cynical with age and the tragic experiences he has had to endure all throughout his life.

"Think of the good times you two have had together." Jehan suggests after jotting something down in his miniature notebook. "Perhaps it will help her come back to you."

Enjolras allows his eyes to take a sudden interest in the white blue-speckled floor, folding his hands across his lap. He appreciates their words of hope and comfort and optimism, everything that he basically isn't at this particular moment in time, but he cannot bring himself to truly accept them within his mind. Each time a slightly positive thought comes to mind, it's ripped to shreds by the sight in front of him.

To make matters worse on himself, he is still considering this his fault.

The final weeks of the year have never been good to him. It seems prevalent in his mind that the bad things happen to those in his life around this time of year, even though in truth, only three years have truly been devastating, including this one. He knows that, but the late weeks of November and the month of December, to him, never seem to bring any good. Christmas Day took his parents from him, November 23 took away Natalie, December 11 took away Rosalie, and now late December threatens to take away Éponine.

After Jehan and Azelma leave, is when he finds himself capable of taking the former's advice.

A little over three years ago was when he and Éponine starting going out. That winter and spring consisted of eating dinner at one of the local restaurants or grabbing a coffee during their lunch breaks, or a movie night and take-out at one of their apartments. During the summer, they spent time walking through the park, before sitting down to enjoy a small picnic (one of which resulted them being drenched in rain and having to sprint to the nearest gazebo to seek shelter).

In late July, they had both managed to take a few days off and Éponine had dragged him with her to go camping, figuring it was a good way to get away from it all, so they could enjoy nature in its purest form without the sound of car horns and anxious people traveling from place-to-place on the busy sidewalks. As much as he believed staying in a hotel a few miles away and remaining close to civilization was a wise choice, Éponine had insisted in driving just a bit more into the wilderness and living in a tent.

* * *

><p>"<em>So you're telling me you have never gone camping before?" she asks curiously as he begins to pack, him obviously not having the slightest clue of what is necessary for such a venture.<em>

"_Not even once." he replies sincerely._

"_Ever slept in a tent in the backyard?"_

"_Nope."_

"_Cabin in the woods?"_

"_Never." _

_She heaves an exasperated sigh. "A camper or RV?"_

"_Neither." _

_She crosses her arms, staring at him disbelievingly. "You're kidding."_

"_Not one bit." he says as he begins to rummage through his closet in search of anything that might be deemed 'fit enough' for the outdoors. Much of the clothing he owns are for his job: dress shirts, dress pants, ties, and the like. He has a few sweaters, t-shirts, and jeans when casual clothing is necessary for the situation, but not much of anything else._

"_Which means you have little to no clue what you need to be looking for to bring along?"_

"_That basically sums it up, yes." _

_The next thing he knows, she starts going through his closet, too. She grabs a couple pairs of worn jeans and tosses them onto his bed, and then she manages to find red (of course) flannel shirt and an old jacket that she throws into the pile as well._

_When they arrive at the campsite, he is at least a little surprised to find that there is no sign of civilization in sight. To put it simply, all he can see are trees and a grassy field, with a small stream running through it._

"_Are you sure we are in the right place?" he asks a bit warily, scanning the terrain for any other sources of life, both friendly and threatening. "There's no one else here."_

"_I know." Éponine replies as she hauls the bag containing the tent from her car. He tries to help her with it, but she insists it's not necessary. _

_With little difficulty, they manage to set up the tent under the shade of a few trees, before they start unloading their sleeping bags (among a few other things) and placing them in the tent. Once they reach the food, however, she strictly states that the food (and water) should not be left out unattended and returned to the car, in order to prevent unwanted guests from scavenging through it._

_The next problem that arises is when he can find no signs of a bathroom or any other form of a place that would contain some sort of indoor plumbing._

"_Enjolras, have you ever heard the phrase 'roughing it'?" she asks, a trace of annoyance in her voice. He nods. "Well, apply it to this situation."_

* * *

><p>Needless to say, he was not too fond of that answer.<p>

He can still recall the too-close-for-comfort encounter with a bear while fishing in the stream, sitting by her side as they watched the sun go down, hiking through the forest on marked trails, roasting marshmallows over a campfire, having those little talks before turning in for the night…

Such times seem so far away, especially when he looks at her now. She is absolutely still, the only exception being the rise and fall of her chest. It is almost as if she is frozen in time, and he is stuck in a nightmare that simply won't end.

His eyes once again flicker over to the miniature tree on the windowsill, a few presents sitting beside it that their friends had brought. The scene reminds him of what day it is, having forgotten because of where he is, where she is.

It certainly does not feel like Christmas to him.

* * *

><p>"<em>Oh, we are not saving the paper!" Éponine says with impatience as he begins to slowly unwrap one of the gifts from underneath their Christmas tree. He likes taking time in such acts, only to make the moments last at least a little longer, and to record the so few enjoyable moments in his mind.<em>

"_Okay, okay," he replies with a bit of laughter as she appears ready to throw at him some of the wrapping paper she had turned to shreds only a few minutes earlier. "You do recall that I said this was not necessary."_

"_I do, but as I'm sure you remember, I said the same thing." she smiles, setting aside the shredded paper that once contained a tan pair of gloves. He still does not remember what put them into this situation, other than seeing her come home with a few shopping bags that she later hid from him, followed by him doing something similar the following day._

_When the bottom of the tree is clear, there is a small war of balled-up paper that results in the two of them falling together onto the sofa in amused laughter. Once all grows calm, they are putting away red sweaters and tan gloves, before sitting down beside one another on the couch to watch _It's a Wonderful Life_, remaining sheltered from the coming blizzard outside._

* * *

><p>Tonight, two years later to the day, he is sitting by a hospital bed, her still form lying in front of him. Outside, snow is landing gently on the ground, adding another layer to the blankets that had already fallen on the ground.<p>

The faint beeping in the background is not at all like the creaking of footsteps above their heads on most nights or the humming of the refrigerator, nothing like the sound of laughter and whispers over the television. There is no flour on the front of his shirt nor is there frosting on his nose. There is no one telling him to stop fussing over the paperwork that he has been staring at for hours, or to remind him to pick up some coffee from the store on his way home.

He isn't home, not in the way he wants to be.

No, this definitely does not feel like Christmas to him at all.


End file.
